


Peggy's Type

by Shatterpath



Category: Agent Carter (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Humor, Implied Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-18
Updated: 2015-02-18
Packaged: 2018-03-13 14:28:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3385154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shatterpath/pseuds/Shatterpath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Like the title says.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Peggy's Type

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ayrki](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ayrki/gifts).



> There is a whole lot that could and probably should be said about this idea, but I'm SO MAD at Howard after tonight's episode that I could just throttle him. So, rather than start nitpicking this piece to death, you're getting it as is. Obviously, the final ep might kibosh me, but I like the piece anyway.
> 
> As inspired by--  
> Me: There's a couple fics out there with Mafia connections, but I like 'tough girl next door' better. Scrappy and adorable  
> Tristian Makhai: very much so. And very much, it appears, Peggy's type: half scrawny, scrappy as hell, mouthy New York brats.

"Ya got a type, Pegs," Howard enthused around a mouthful of damn good cheeseburger.

Irritated and amused-- a state she was accustomed to with this fool-- Peggy arched a dark brow and drawled, "a type? Dare I ask?"

"Don't play dumb, it doesn't suit you." The wry tease almost earns a smile, but does bring a warm gleam to those mercurial dark eyes. "First Abraham delivers Rodgers to you on a silver platter and you're completely taken in by the sassy runt. You weren't the only one, either. Those meatheads from the military wanted some sorta dumb draft horse to do their heavy lifting and never did listen to the smart guy with the blue goo. Idiots. But Abraham knew, you knew, hell even I knew that Steve was the guy. Damn kid was crazy about you from the get go because you saw him for what he was. The draft horse part was just icing on the cake. And he wasn't even my type. Mostly."

The melancholy of memory stabbed deep, a scar in the shape of Steve Rodger's smile, but the laugh that bubbled up at Howard's cheek was every bit as authentic.

"Good to know your taste in-- how did you so eloquently put it?-- sassy runts is to be commended. Even if he wasn't mostly your type."

The friends grinned at each other, Peggy both ignoring and oddly charmed by the boyish cheekfull of the cheeseburger the man was still chewing. Swallowing hard, Howard gestured around the quiet restaurant, nearly showering her in catsup. "Then you wander-- at random I can only presume-- into this place, what's it called again?"

"The L&L," Peggy intoned with all the long-suffering patience of an older sister faced with the randomness of a little brother.

"No, no, not that, Laundromat?"

"Automat."

"That's it! You're the best, Peg."

"I know," she agreed with a dryness that made Howard flash a toothy grin.

"So itty bitty Stevie caught your eye, right."

"We've established that, yes."

Howard was fairly certain she was mocking him, but her expression gave away nothing, so he plowed ahead.

"And now you've gone and found yourself a little tough girl next door, scrappy and adorable. And since you threatened me to keep my hands to myself, my opinion extends no further than that."

"You are much too old to pout, Howard."

"Sez you."

Why must he always give her a headache while being obnoxiously charming? Peggy delicately rubbed the bridge of her nose and caught the sound of Angie's voice greeting a customer, her heels tapping the ceramic floor.

"I do not have a 'type', Howard," she insisted half-playfully. "I merely admire grit and intelligence, regardless of the… packaging."

A snort of humor made Howard cough on crumbs and thump his own chest. "No offense, Peggy, but that's a load of horsefeathers and half-truths. You like your half scrawny, scrappy as hell, mouthy New York brats."

Despite it being a slightly uncomfortable truth, he had a point and Peggy fought down both a smile and a faint flush of pleasure across her cheeks. She remembered Steve's mulish expression, how he would utterly ignore the taunts of the other men, the way his own body would fight his efforts, blue eyes focused and determined. She knows the relentless cheer, the dignity Angie would cling to remain unflagging in a city that tried to so hard to beat her down. As though conjured by the slightly awkward conversation, Angie appeared at the edge of the table to point her coffee pot at Howard with a mock stink-eye. The man watched the hot brew tickle the glass lip with something akin to fear.

"Hey, English, the guy botherin' you?"

"My hero," Peggy chuckled, admiring as she always did, the younger woman's-- how did Howard phrase that?-- scrappy sass.

"You wouldn't," Howard protested as he watched the hot coffee tilted at him, gaze flickering up to her dangerously sweet smile. "Nevermind. You're friends with that one. You might do anything."

The women only laughed.


End file.
